Night of the Living Head
by Lauren Order
Summary: When Sherlock's experiment goes awry, it's bad news for London.


**Chapter 1**

One night the unthinkable happened.

Sherlock gave me a compliment.

"Thank you for the lovely dinner," he told me. It wasn't often that he expressed gratitude.

"You're welcome… it's no problem, really. You seemed extra busy today," I replied, still somewhat shocked that he liked my cooking. I'd felt obligated to cook something considering how much takeaway we'd eaten within just the past week. However, I never expected Sherlock to think twice about how it _tasted._ Perhaps something was wrong.

Sherlock's face flushed suddenly. "Yes… well…"

"What is it? Is something the matter?" I asked.

"No. It's just… progress," he muttered.

"What, on a case? That's good to hear!"

"Erm… not exactly. It's far more exciting!" he said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Exciting? Oh, do tell," I said, leaning towards him and slightly imitating Mrs Hudson, our landlady.

"It's such a _breakthrough_, John!" He gripped my shoulders tightly. "I have done the unthinkable. The modern Prometheus is a reality now!"

"Meaning…" The dull look on my face would have normally irritated him, but on this night he took no notice of my blatant lack of knowledge.

"LIFE! Technically, I only have the capability of reanimating individual cells. Nothing major. But think of the possibilities for forensics!" he shouted, jumping for joy like a small child.

"Reanimating cells is pretty major if you ask me, Sherlock," I said. "I feel like throwing a party in your honour now!"

"That's not necessary; I have much more work ahead of me, anyway. _This is the future_!"

"All right, all right, Doctor Frankenstein. Keep at it. But get some sleep tonight, will you? These late nights can't be good for your constitution."

"Fine. You're the _real_ doctor here. Just keep in mind that this discovery will help the medical field, too." With that, Sherlock went back to his research.

Obviously, that night, he didn't get the rest he needed. He pulled another all-nighter on his project, saying it was "vital" to do so. He commented in a similar manner during the entirety of the next week. Of course, that was, _if_ he spoke at all.

The first few nights, it was the same thing. Sherlock would come out of his makeshift laboratory for about five minutes here and there, hardly speaking. It was just like him to compliment me one day and then completely ignore my existence the next day.

I decided it was about time to take a look at this experiment he was running. Every time I walked into his lab, I always regretted it. But this time was different. I knew this wasn't a run-of-the-mill chemical analysis or pH testing.

"So, how's it going?" I asked casually as I entered the room.

"Busy."

"I can see that. Quite an impressive setup you've got here. I just wanted to take a look at this whole thing and get an idea of what exactly you're doing here," I told him.

"I said, _busy_."

"Just because you're busy doesn't mean I _have _to leave you alone, Sherlock. Since I live in this flat as well, I think I deserve to know if you're about to blow up half the walls in here. I mean, it _has_ happened before…" I explained.

He looked up from his work. "Yes, yes… I suppose you have reason for concern. But I can assure you, absolutely _nothing_ can go wrong with this experiment. I've taken every possible precaution to contain everything I'm working on."

"That's what a lot of people have said, only to have the whole thing blow up in their face."

"Do I look like a lot of people?"

I paused for a moment. "Just… don't do anything stupid. Sometimes you get ideas that are a bit not good."

"The ideas are always good. It's the execution that's sometimes lacking. Never my fault, of course. It's everyone else's inability to manage the most simple of tasks." he said. "Speaking of simple tasks, can you retrieve the severed head from the refrigerator for me? I trust you know where it is?"

"Wh- what's this now? I am most certainly _not_ picking up a severed anything!"

"Are you really going to make me get it myself? I'm rather preoccupied, and something's bound to go wrong with this experiment if I walk away from it for even a second."

There was no way to call his bluff, considering I hadn't the slightest clue what he was even doing right now.

"Fine," I said. "But I'm going to put some gloves on first!"

"Of course you will; otherwise you'd be contaminating it with your own DNA and then the whole experiment will have been for nothing and you'd have to live with my insufferable complaining for at least a year from now."

I just sighed, put on a pair of latex gloves, and went to get the head.

It was sandwiched in between- well, two sandwiches, both of which I had made for Sherlock only to be turned down because "science is more important than sustenance." He could be so stubborn at times.

I picked up the head, which had accumulated some sort of slimy substance around its edges. It was one of the most hideous things I'd ever seen, which was saying a lot considering all of the medical situations I'd encountered.

"Are you sure about this?" I yelled back to Sherlock in the other room.

"Yes, it's the next step to progress. This is for the medical field, in fact. You might find it interesting," he called back.

I was not going to watch anything that had to do with that head. I wouldn't do it even if my reputation as a doctor depended on it.

I carefully carried the head back to the other room. "Where should I set this thing down, on a silver platter?" I asked.

"Right there's fine, actually," Sherlock said, pointing to a chopping board on the table next to him. It was my personal chopping board, in fact.

"What? You use our _kitchenware_ for experiments? Isn't there a rule against that?" I shouted, flabbergasted.

"Hmm… maybe there is. I never bothered finding out."

"This is disgusting. I refuse to put a slimy, horrible, severed head on _my_ chopping board," I said.

"Wait, it's slimy? That's not right," Sherlock said, standing up immediately. He came over to examine the head while I was still holding on to it.

He poked it and then took a piece of cotton to take a sample of the slime. He prepped a slide and looked at it under the microscope.

"John…" he began.

"All right, whatever you're about to say, I didn't do it! It was like that when I got there!"

"It's still your fault. What did you put next to the head while it was still in the refrigerator? Keep in mind that I already know the answer; I just want you to admit your mistake," he said smugly.

"Um. Your sandwiches that you refused to eat. So I think you're at fault!"

"What _type_ of sandwiches were they, John?" he continued.

"One was tuna and the other was chicken salad."

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?" I asked, confused like always.

"You know I hate tuna. So why did you make the sandwich? Because you're an idiot like the rest of the world. Fish, specifically tuna fish, causes a reaction with the specific preservative that was added to this particular head. Not that I expected you to know that, but I knew that there wouldn't be any tuna fish in the refrigerator because I don't like it. And then you had to go and buy some and leave an open sandwich _right_ next to the head. Another prime example of the reason why things go wrong."

"You don't like tuna?"

"Correct."

"Oh."

"I don't think this substance should have any effect on the experiment, though," he said.

"If you're sure…"

"I've analysed it, and it's only a by-product of the reaction. A bit like rust. It doesn't change the composition of the cells or anything."

"Well then, by all means, continue. I'll just be leaving now," I said as I inched towards the door.

"Wait," he commanded.

I looked at him and waited for him to tell me of some other thing I had done wrong.

"Remember to toss the sandwich, will you?"

"Of course," I said, sighing with relief. As I walked back to the kitchen, I made a mental note to never buy tuna again. There was no way I was going to interfere with anything else that happened in that laboratory.


End file.
